One Cold Asgardian Night
by misssplendora
Summary: After the events of "Thor: The Dark World," Loki is a very busy god. But after a tiresome day he can go back to his chamber to find the Enchantress, and suddenly he is interested again. Nothing explicit, rated M to be safe. Spoilers for the movies. Crossovered from the comics is just the Enchantress. Beta'd by Mimbillia: /u/2721181/


"There you are," he said, entering his chambers, smiling coldly and without affection.

And there she was, indeed, sitting on the bed, covering herself with furs, her knees under her chin, and her back bare to the cold. She was smiling, too, and her smile was genuine, inviting, and somehow sly.

"Where else would I be, my lord?" She inquired with fake humility, embracing her legs and leaning forward. "You know I am always waiting for you to come."

His smile got colder and wider. His eyes were eating her alive but his posture was restrained. He stayed by the chamber door and relished the moment. He would not approach her. Nothing was quite this easy with them. She knew they would play this game for a while now, and the game excited her just as much as Loki himself.

He moved, not towards her but to the left, never taking his eyes off of her. She tilted her head and let it rest on her knees. He poured himself a drink.

"Have you been lounging on my bed this entire day, while I was being the king?"

"As much of the day that I could spare, my lord," she replied, playful and confident. "I did have urgent matters to attend to but I did my best to disperse with them swiftly and make myself ready for your arrival."

"Were the matters of any interest to me?"

"Are you not the king of Asgard? Is not every matter in this realm of interest to you?"

"Are you telling me how to be king?" He asked, raising his eyebrows in displeasure.

"I would not dare," she answered, bowing her head to him.

"Good." He seemed content with her answer. "What were the matters, then?"

"They did not concern this realm, my lord."

They stared each other down. He calmly sipped his drink, while she lazily stroked the fur covering her legs. No other sound could be heard in the chamber for a moment that seemed eternal. She was waiting for him to grant her his trust and allow her to have secrets. He was wondering how far they were from stabbing each other in the back.

A tiny part of him wished he could trust her but he knew they would betray each other in the end. It had been an exhaustively long time since he could trust anyone. He had been watching his back carefully for so long, and sure enough, each person he held in high esteem had betrayed him, one by one. Had they not done that by the moment of their (or his supposed) death, they were simply lacking the time or the wit to do so, never the desire. No, he knew the luxury of trust to be for children, and he could no longer conceive any other way of living his life.

So he never fully trusted her. But he knew this arrangement was beneficial for her, and he saw nothing she could possibly gain from betraying him now. And he knew better than to agitate his temporary allies.

He lowered his drink.

"Get up," he said, neither his face nor his voice showing any emotion.

She obeyed without a word, put the fur over her back and stood up. He took in the view while finishing his drink.

He had expected her to be naked but she was covered – if just barely. Her long emerald skirt was slit on both sides, exposing her long, slim legs. Her breasts were hidden under her long golden locks and restrained by nothing else. She was grasping the fur with both hands, seemingly to protect herself from the cold, although he knew she only held it to make herself look more majestic. He did not mind. He found it suiting.

"Come closer," he commanded, putting down the empty glass. She did as she was told and approached him. Her smell was palpable. She smelled of magic, lust, and wonder. It would be intoxicating for a person not accustomed to it, and it did take him by surprise the first time they met. He had known he must have her from the moment he first sensed her, and she gave in to his demand easily. But he was wiser by now. He knew not to show such weakness again. His temptations would _not_ be his undoing.

"Are you cold, my lady?" He asked, looking not at her face but surveying her perfect body. She stood tall, proud, and provoking.

He did not move to touch her.

"Are you too warm, my lord?" She replied.

She did not move to touch him. He looked into her playful eyes.

"That was hardly an answer."

"A keen observation, as it was not supposed to be one."

He looked at her. Glimpsing grave anger growing in his gaze, she quipped quickly:

"It was a simple remark, my lord. Either I cover myself, or we free you from your restraints."

She stared him down once more. The anger was gone now, replaced by something else.

He did not move. He would not reach out first. He would not encourage her. He would not show interest.

She wrapped herself tighter in his fur and reached out to his helmet.

"I know which one I would prefer," she said softly, as she first gently brushed her fingers against gold, and then grasped it with her both hands and took it off his head. With it, she moved past him and put it on the table, reverently. He turned to see her move. She was gracious and seductive. He did his best not to grow impatient.

"Is that not better?"

"Are you not too familiar with me, my lady?"

"This never bothered you before," she said, coming so close to him that he could feel her breath on his face. "Shall I stop?"

He indulged himself with a moment of closeness before moving away. He turned and spread his arms.

"Make yourself useful and disrobe me."

She complied without a word. Without making a sound, she put her arms around him and slowly began to undo his armor. She made no attempt to use her hands, he noticed, but was undoing his armor with her magic instead. It made him uneasy but he would not let her know that. She could not see his face with his back turned to her, so he allowed himself to close his eyes and soak in the sensations. Magic so close to his body was softer than the softest touch, and yet he knew no ordinary witch could undo his armor like that. Her power was gentle and deadly, if used against him. He learned it not long after they first met. From their introduction, it took him mere hours to arrange for them to see each other alone, and he was prepared to court her as the elderly king when she laughed and said she admired how he insisted on wearing his own attire despite maintaining the illusion of being Odin.

It shocked him speechless how she had seen through his disguise, seemingly without an effort. He had panicked at that moment, he was ashamed to admit, and tried to strike her down. But she was not helpless against him and managed to defend herself briefly before falling, alive despite his intention to slay her immediately. He noticed she had merely protected herself, striking no blows against him, and this saved her life. He demanded she explain herself, and this she did. The Enchantress of mysterious origin, proficient in many magicks, here to learn even more, was made aware of his presence only because of paranoia and misinformation: she had not known he had escaped and was declared deceased. She had not intended to wander into the house of the god of mischief and illusion and be unprepared for all sorts of trickery.

She admitted then she had not expected to recognize the All Father to be an illusion but once she did, it was not difficult to think of a person who would want to perform such a feat, and would have the necessary means at his disposal.

"And once you know the trickster," she told him later that first night, "the trick is so much easier to unravel."

So he learned she had known who he was, and she did not tell anyone. As far as he knew, she was the only one who ever found out, but he could never have unwavering faith in his illusion again. And so he kept her close to help him maintain his reign and look for others who might either become too suspicious or too knowledgeable for their own good. And she served him well, by day and night, rarely leaving his side.

She said she wanted to learn and he did reward her services by showing her some of his tricks – not all of them, of course, and certainly none of the most useful, but enough to satisfy her thirst for knowledge. Her power was breathtaking even without his teaching. She was already almost his equal. He would allow no such danger in his court.

But for now she still had much to learn, the reason securing her loyalty to him. At least for the time being.

And so he let her disrobe him with her magic, he let her power so close to his body, and felt unease but not fear. And he felt such pleasure, a pleasure almost divine. Their powers resonated with each other in the most extraordinary ways, and he could not deny himself such sensation.

Once freed from the leather and gold, he took a deep breath.

"Stop." He ordered when she attempted to remove his linen shirt.

"As you wish," she responded but did not move away or let him go. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and placed a gentle kiss on his bare neck.

"I do hope you are more comfortable this way," she almost whispered. He wanted so much to just give in and let her embrace him for eternity. But he felt something shift in her voice and he knew to be careful.

She knew magic. She was dangerous. He could never give in to anything she said or did. So he forcibly removed her wrists from his body and still grasping her arm, turned around to face her.

"Do not forget yourself," he hissed, angered again. She looked at him calmly, unafraid. Why did she not fear him? She knew he could destroy her if that be his wish.

He could destroy her, after all, could he not?

"Forgive me," she said simply, surveying his face. "I meant no disrespect."

She let the fur slip from her arms but it hardly made her more exposed. If anything, it freed her arms from the restriction.

He held her wrist tight, hoping even to hurt it slightly, and with his free hand he stroked her back, eventually resting the hand on her waist.

She shivered. He could not tell whether this was an expression of pleasure or discomfort.

He was pleased either way.

He pulled her closer and kissed her.

They danced this dance so many times. They struggle for a while, they bicker briefly, and then they kiss and he shares his bed with her. There was passion between them but Loki was not naïve enough to presume their passion was for each other. He knew it was merely magic and hunger for power that bound them. But this was also what made it all so enticing for him.

He had known numerous women before the Enchantress, all fascinated with the young mischievous prince, and in the past he felt a passion for several of them. After all, he was not one to underestimate beauty. But it was always a fleeting attraction, never lasting for more than a night or two.

This was different.

She was not merely beautiful. She was mesmerizing. He wanted more than to simply posses her – he wanted to tame her.

But she could not be tamed, he was learning night after night. She kept slipping through his fingers, and he felt that quite possibly this was what made the whole affair worthwhile, after all. He suspected she would cease to interest him if he did manage to tame her. And, at times, he thought she knew this, too. And so they danced this dance so many times.

No matter. He had her to try and tame for now, and abundance of time to come.

With one swift move, never breaking the kiss, he turned them around, lay her back on the bed and placed himself above her. He moved his hands smoothly up from her waist, grabbing this time both her arms and holding them above her head. Only then did he lift his face away from hers and smiled.

"Shall we, my lady?" He said, as gallant as the circumstances allowed.

The Enchantress smiled at him and put herself in his power.

At least for this night.


End file.
